


come and take what’s yours

by figure8



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Face-Fucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Minghao is easy to rile up.





	come and take what’s yours

**Author's Note:**

> [yeets bad porn into the world] i’m back! 
> 
>  
> 
> title from down by sam rui

_But forget about what you should do_   
_You know that I’ve been feelin’ you_   
_Come and take what’s yours_   
_But forget about what you should do_   
_Here and now it’s just me and you_   
_What you waitin’ for?_   


 

Minghao is easy to rile up. Junhui knows where to touch him, knows _how,_ knows how _not to._ His fingers drumming on the inside of Minghao’s wrist to the rhythm of _Good To Me,_ deliberate but discreet, while his thigh presses against Minghao’s, warm even through the fabric of their jeans; this is a language they both know how to speak. They’re seated next to each other for this interview, which doesn’t happen often these days, considering how people seem to always want Junhui to stand in the back. For once they’re not put in two rows in order to all fit in the frame, but all in one line on this long couch. It’s nice. Jeonghan is far enough that Junhui doesn’t have to watch his back at all times, which is definitely a perk. Minghao’s body heat and the opportunity to torment him, these are perks too, the best kind.

From the corner of his eye, he watches as Minghao squirms, tries to get away from him inconspicuously. It’s aimless contact that drives Minghao crazy, Junhui has realized with time. Minghao loves to tease, but he’s nowhere near patient enough to enjoy the taste of his own medicine. He’s sensitive, too. Shivers easily, skin on skin. Junhui stops the dance of his fingers, covers Minghao’s forearm with his hand, leaves it there. Hot. It’s too hot in the room, and Junhui is wearing a sweater. Minghao just has a t-shirt on, the leather jacket the stylist put him in discarded under him. The cameraman is focusing on Seungcheol, who’s answering some stupid question about ideal dates again, so Junhui drags his palm up Minghao’s arm, smiling brightly when Minghao finally takes his arm away, shooting him an exasperated glare. Mission accomplished. He _doesn’t_ move his leg, now the only point of contact between them, and Junhui concentrates on that heat, on the slight tremble of Minghao’s jolting foot.

 

He’s expecting retaliation in the van. He’s expecting Minghao to sneak into the shower with him later that evening, maybe. Or into Junhui’s room, Junhui’s bed, even better. They don’t really ever have the privacy for something like this, but a man can dream.

Instead Minghao follows him into the restrooms right after they’re done with the recording, pushes him inside one of the stalls and locks the door behind them.

“Someone’s worked up,” Junhui laughs, but Minghao doesn’t look amused. He crowds Junhui up against the flimsy wooden wall, the paper dispenser digging into the back of Junhui’s thigh.

“ _Someone,_ ” Minghao hisses, “Needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.”

 _Oh,_ Junhui notices, delighted, Minghao is fully hard already, and he’s frustrated. The black jeans he was put in earlier this afternoon are tight, constricting. Junhui stares at his bulge, mouth watering, but he doesn’t move.

“Just some friendly skinship, Xiao Ba,” he grins. “It’s not like I was touching you anywhere inappropriate. I’m a professional, after all.”

Minghao growls. “You’re a professional pain in my ass, is what you are.”

Junhui is _this_ close to retorting _I could be_ but Minghao doesn’t give him the time, grabs him by the collar to tug him down and kisses him square on the mouth.

Junhui likes kissing Minghao. Junhui likes kissing in general, but Minghao is _good._ Even in situations like this one, where they objectively don’t have the time, he never sacrifices technique. They’re used to each other, and Minghao knows exactly how to bite, how to lick, how to make Junhui whimper and shake. Junhui’s hand finds Minghao’s waist, thumb digging into his hip under his shirt, pushing the jeans down a little without undoing them. Minghao nibbles at his jawline in response before planting a soft kiss on the side of his neck. He would leave a mark if he could, Junhui knows that.

“We’re supposed to be leaving,” he mumbles into the hollow of Junhui’s throat, voice already a little raspy.

Junhui kisses the top of his head, still absently tracing burning patterns on his skin. “We have at least fifteen minutes before someone realizes we’re missing.” Minghao takes a step back.

“Get on your knees, then,” he raises an eyebrow, unbuckling his belt. Junhui doesn’t even think to pretend this wasn’t what he meant.

It’s cramped in the bathroom stall like this, and he’s going to regret the position tomorrow during dance practice, but right this second Junhui doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to risk an interruption, so he doesn’t drag it out, but he can’t resist nuzzling at Minghao’s clothed erection before lowering his ridiculously expensive boxer briefs, just to hear the sharp intake of breath.

The first lick is just a swipe of his tongue over the head of Minghao’s cock, Junhui staring up at him through his lashes. It’s a game, still. Push and pull, tug of war. _How much until you crack?_

Minghao fists a hand in his hair, asks wordlessly, asks with his eyes and his touch. Junhui thinks it’s funny how there are so many languages only the two of them know how to speak.

Minghao reaches out with his other hand, thumb aerial on Junhui’s bottom lip. There is tenderness there contrasting with his tight grip. This is what happens when you start fooling around with your best friend, maybe. For a second Minghao looks like he’s about to say something, gaze intent, irises slowly taken over by the growing black rings of his pupils, two simultaneous eclipses.

Then he guides himself forward into Junhui’s waiting mouth. Junhui can’t help the moan that escapes him; Minghao is heavy in his mouth, the taste familiar yet still foreign, and Junhui has an oral fixation. It’s just how things are.

He hollows his cheeks and sucks. Minghao swears.

He knows how to make it good, and he knows how to make it _fast—_ has had practice in general, has had practice with _Minghao._ This is idol life—stolen moments in bathrooms and closets and behind the scenes. They’ve fucked in a bed once, maybe. Twice if you count the time they made out in that hotel room for what seemed like _hours_ and Junhui ended up coming in his pants because he was so wired on adrenaline from the show—but Junhui _doesn’t_ count it.

“Fuck, your fucking _mouth,_ ” Minghao grunts, and Junhui fights the urge to smile. It’s still a game. Junhui hates losing.

There’s affection in Minghao’s tone. There’s affection even in the way his hold on Junhui’s hair tightens even more, angling Junhui’s head exactly like he wants it. Junhui can feel himself slipping, just a little. He relaxes his jaw and closes his eyes. It means losing the perfect visual of Minghao head thrown back in bliss, but this way he can let himself go and _take it,_ Minghao’s cock thrusting into the wet heat of his throat now, rhythm frantic. He’s saying something—compliments, expletives, whatever—but Junhui focuses on the music of his voice, the quiet warmth of it, wraps himself in the sound. His spine turns into a column of fire.

It doesn’t take long after that. Minghao lets out a long breathy moan when his body finally gives in, coming on Junhui’s tongue. He might have been attempting to pull out in some sort of half-hearted way and Junhui doesn’t manage to swallow it all, some of it trickling down his chin.

“Junnie,” Minghao says, still panting, and Junhui grins. “Come up here.”

The hand in his hair is just there now, hold released. Minghao licks his own come off Junhui’s face before kissing him for real, slow but deep, long and filthy enough that Junhui realizes he’s hard in his jeans too, has been for a while now. His knees are aching and he doesn’t need to even try to speak to know his voice is fucked.

He likes that, maybe.

He likes Minghao’s hand on him, around him like this— _payoff,_ reward. Minghao knows it, murmurs _you did good,_ lips brushing the shell of his ear, and Junhui’s hips buck up. He spills over Minghao’s fist barely a minute after with a low whine.

He slumps against Minghao, chin resting on his shoulder, spent. Minghao kisses the side of his head. “You okay, baby?”

Junhui makes a vague affirmative sound.

“Didn’t know you would slip this easily, I’m sorry.” Another gentle kiss to his temple. Minghao is also rubbing random geometrical patterns on his back over the flimsy material of his sweater.

“I’m good,” Junhui reassures him. He is. A little lightheaded, perhaps, but this is what he was looking for, really. They’ve both been so stressed lately.

“We really have to go if we don’t want anyone to ask questions,” Minghao grimaces. He still doesn’t seem to want to move, so Junhui shakes his head like a wet dog fresh out the river to recollect himself and takes the decision instead and untangles them from each other.

Outside the stall, Minghao checks them both in the large mirrors, grabs a piece of paper and pats the corner of Junhui’s mouth to be sure.

Junhui steals a kiss before they cross the door. He hums happily all the way back to the dorms. Minghao, pressed against his side, pretends to be deadly annoyed.

Junhui knows.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
